Chapter 14
Kirill
Eyes on the road.
Focus.
There’s too much going on right now…
I drive away from Teddy’s building with the taste of him still on my lips and the memory of his conflicted eyes burning in my mind.
The sports car’s engine growls low as I accelerate through the traffic, but the sound does nothing to drown out the storm inside my chest.
The boy is conflicted.
I could see it in the way he hesitated, the way his fingers lingered on my cheek when he kissed me goodbye. Telling him even the small piece I gave him—that my life is dangerous, that I make difficult and often brutal decisions—was the right thing.
Darling Teddy deserves to know he is stepping into darkness. But the thought that it might mean losing him twists something sharp and ugly inside me.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
My pakhan side rises fast and hot, pushing aside the softer feelings I have allowed to surface…
If he walks away, I will not accept it.
I will not let the boy go. Not under any circumstances.
The fantasy surges unbidden: taking him to my apartment, binding his wrists with silk, laying him over my knee and spanking his ass until his defiance melts into submission and he agrees to be mine. Keeping him there, safe and claimed, until he understands that he belongs to me.
I’ll spank him, paddle him, tease and torment him with every toy and implement under the sun if that’s what it takes. I’ll fill his tight ass, stretch it, make him cum over and over again. But he will succumb to me.
Suddenly, I slam my fist against the steering wheel once, hard enough to make the car swerve slightly. The leather creaks under my grip.
No.
I shake my head sharply, forcing the dark fantasy back into its cage. That is not how I want the boy to give himself to me. Not truly. I want him to choose me—even knowing the risks. But the possessive hunger remains, simmering just beneath the surface.
I change direction and head toward the bar where Ivan is waiting. The drive gives me time to lock my emotions away and slip back into the cold, calculating mindset of the pakhan.
The bar is quiet and dimly lit, a neutral place where men like us can speak without too many ears listening. Ivan is already at a corner table, nursing a whiskey. I slide into the seat opposite him and order the same.
“Talk,” I say without preamble.
Ivan leans forward, voice low. “I think I am closing in on the potential Russian leak to the Mexicans. My sources are starting to line up.”
My pulse quickens. “Who is it?”
Ivan hesitates, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “I would rather not say until I have full confirmation. Accusing the wrong person could have serious repercussions. It could fracture alliances we cannot afford to lose right now.”
I fix him with a hard stare. “I am not asking for accusations. I am asking for your suspicions. Speak plainly.”
Ivan exhales slowly, then meets my eyes.
“I believe the leak is coming from inside the Antonov family,” Ivan says.
The words land like a slap. I bristle instantly, shoulders tensing, anger flaring hot in my chest. One of my own. Someone I have trusted with my father’s legacy, with our operations, with our blood.
But I force myself to listen rather than react.
Getting defensive now would be weakness.
Ivan would not bring this to me lightly, I know him too well for that to be a possibility.
“Continue,” I say, my voice controlled.
“I have threads pointing to someone close to the inner circle,” Ivan says carefully. “Financial irregularities. Unusual communications. Timing that matches the weapons movements. I need more time to be certain, but the signs are there.”
I nod once, jaw tight. “Dig deeper. I give you permission to investigate anyone in the Antonov family — no exceptions. Report only to me. If it is one of mine betraying us, I will deal with it personally.”
Ivan studies me for a moment, then nods. “Understood.”
We finish our drinks in near silence. The weight of potential betrayal sits heavy between us. When we part, I shake his hand firmly, but inside I feel the familiar cold resolve settling back into place.
Trust is a blade that cuts both ways tonight.
* * *
Later that evening, I find myself parked outside Teddy’s acting class again.
I should not be here, I know that. The meeting with Viktor looms in my mind, the cartel threat grows heavier by the hour, and yet the pull toward him is stronger than reason.
When the boy steps out with the other students, laughing at something one of them says, my chest tightens. He looks bright and alive, untouched by the shadows that follow me. The moment his eyes find my car, his expression shifts—surprise, pleasure, and that familiar flicker of nervousness.
I roll the window down. “Get in.”
He hesitates only a second before crossing the street and sliding into the passenger seat. I pull away smoothly, driving toward a quiet park nearby. We walk along the tree-lined path as the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the grass.
Teddy is quiet at first, then turns to me with that mix of sass and vulnerability I have come to crave.
“I still haven’t made up my mind about us,” the boy says, lifting his chin. “And you can wait as long as I say you have to wait. So bleurgh to you.”
The words are pure brat—challenging, teasing, testing my control. My Daddy instincts surge forward instantly, hot and possessive.
I stop walking, turn to him, and back him up against the thick trunk of an old oak tree. The bark is rough against his back. Before he can protest, I spin him around, yank his jeans and briefs down to his thighs in one swift motion, and bring my hand down hard on his bare ass.
The first sharp smack echoes in the quiet park.
Teddy gasps, hands flying back instinctively.
“Kirill—!”
“Quiet,” I growl, spanking him again, harder. “You do not tell me how long I have to wait, malysh. You are mine. You belong to me. And brats who sass their Daddy get corrected, no matter the time or place.”
I proceed to heat his ass thoroughly.
Firm, measured swats that turn his pale skin pink, then red. He squirms and whimpers, but his hips push back toward my hand, betraying how much he needs this. When his bottom is glowing and he is breathing in soft, needy little gasps, I drop to my knees behind him.
I spread his cheeks and bury my face between his ass cheeks, licking his puckered hole with long, hungry strokes and flicks. Teddy moans loudly, hands bracing against the tree as I devour him. My tongue circles his hole, teases him as my hands reach to his front and grip on his cock.
I begin to flick my tongue faster as I jerk his cock, his front and back enjoying every moment of my attention as he groans in pleasure.
“Cum for me,” I command, in between bouncing my tongue back and forth onto his willing ass hole.
Teddy shatters with a choked cry, as he pushes his ass deep onto my mouth as his cock stiffens and trembles in my hand, shooting cum over the top of my fist. I keep licking and wanking the boy through every pulse until he is whimpering and oversensitive.
Only then do I stand, pull his jeans back up, and turn him to face me. His eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
I brush my finger over his face, my voice low and rough.
“Do not test me like that again unless you want to be spanked in public where anyone could see,” I growl, my cock hard and my eyes wolf-like in their hunger.
Teddy nods shakily, still catching his breath.
I drive Teddy home in silence, the air between us thick with tension and unspoken need. When we reach his building, we get out of the car and he leans over and kisses my cheek softly.
“Thank you for tonight,” he whispers.
I watch Teddy for a moment, letting the sight of his flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips burn into my memory.
Then I step forward, slide one arm behind his back and the other beneath his knees, and lift him effortlessly into my arms. He lets out a surprised little squeak, but his body melts against my chest almost immediately, arms looping around my neck.
His legs are still wobbly from the spanking and the orgasm against the tree. I can feel the heat radiating from his reddened bottom even through his jeans as I carry him up the short flight of steps to his apartment building’s front door.
Teddy rests his head against my shoulder, breathing softly. “You don’t have to…”
“I do,” I reply simply, voice low. “It’s time for Daddy to go.”
At the door he fumbles for his keys with one hand while still clinging to me. When the lock clicks open, I carry him across the threshold and set him down gently inside the entryway.
He turns to face me, eyes bright and hopeful, lips still swollen from earlier kisses.
I can see the invitation written clearly across his face. He wants me to come inside. He wants me to stay, to take him again on the floor or carry him to the bed and claim him properly.
For a moment the temptation is strong. My body still hums with the taste of him, the memory of his tight heat and desperate little sounds. But I force myself to play it cool.
I exhale, letting my fingers linger against his cheek.
“Goodnight, malysh,” I say. “Daddy really is going now.”
His expression flickers—surprise, then a flash of disappointment. “You’re… really… not coming in?”
“Not tonight.” I lean down and press a slow, deliberate kiss to his forehead, then one to his lips, just enough to remind him of what he is missing. “Sleep well.”
I step back before he can protest, turning toward the stairs.
Behind me I hear his soft exhale, a tiny sound that is half frustration, half longing.
Good. I want the boy begging for more. I want him lying in bed tonight aching for me, realizing how empty his nights feel without my hands, my voice, my control.
This is how he will see that he needs me.
I reach the bottom of the steps and start walking toward my car when my phone vibrates in my pocket. A message from Viktor…
VIKTOR: The Black Lantern. Ten minutes. Come alone.
I stop mid-stride. My jaw tightens. What is this about? The meeting we had on the beach was supposed to cover everything. A sudden summons like this could mean anything—new information, a problem… or a trap.
Teddy is instantly pushed from my mind.
The softness I allowed myself to feel only moments ago vanishes, replaced by the cold, sharp focus of the pakhan. I slide into the sports car, the engine roaring to life, and head toward the Black Lantern.
The bar is tucked away on a quiet side street, the kind of place that looks unremarkable from the outside but caters to men who prefer to conduct business away from prying eyes. I park a block away and walk the rest of the distance alone, senses on high alert.
When I push open the door, the low hum of conversation and the smell of whiskey and cigar smoke greet me.
Viktor is already seated at a corner booth, two glasses of vodka waiting on the table.
He looks tense, shoulders rigid, eyes scanning the room.
I slide into the seat opposite him.
“What is this about?” I ask without greeting.
Viktor leans forward, voice barely above a whisper. “We may have a problem. One of my men intercepted a message tonight. The Mexicans are moving faster than we thought. They have a target.”
He slides a folded piece of paper across the table. I open it and read the short list of names and locations. My own name is near the top.
I fold the paper again and meet his gaze, the familiar steel settling back into my spine.
“Then we move first,” I say quietly.
The softness of the evening with Teddy is already a distant memory.
The war is no longer coming.
It is already here.